The Butterfly Effect
by SMEC-Sparrow
Summary: The phenomenon whereby a minute localized change in a complex system can have large effects elsewhere. Shepard lost everyone on Mindoir. All but one, it would seem. (A Prequel Story for the Mass Effect Trilogy)
1. Prologue

**September 25th, 2183**

 **Eden Prime Interplanetary Spaceport**

 **1100 Hours (Local Time)**

James Roosevelt stared at the disassembled rifle on his workbench, pacing back and forth as his mind raced. A prothean beacon on an out-of-the-way colony, one of the most tranquil destinations in all of Systems Alliance space. He accepted the mission as soon as he was notified, not really looking too far past the price tag. The only pieces of information that truly registered in his mind were 'Eden Prime', 'prothean beacon', and '2,500,000 credits upon retrieval and delivery'. And therein sat his current dilemma.

The protheans were a technologically advanced, space-faring civilization that peaked fifty thousand years ago before being wiped off of the face of the galaxy… without a trace. The Prothean Archives on Mars, discovered in 2148, were the reason that humanity could even travel through space. Protheans built the mass relays, the giant warp-gates that littered the Milky Way, allowing a ship to travel thousands of light years in a matter of minutes; hell, they were the reason civilization as a whole, no matter the species, existed on the galactic scale. With this in mind, James knew that prothean beacons were _not_ something to scoff at.

The Alliance would be coming for the beacon; it was theirs by right. The Citadel Council would be right on their heels, exploring the information gathered by it alongside their comrades. The Batarian Hegemony… well, if the batarians found out about the beacon, the whole galaxy could be plunged into war. If any pirates that were willing to risk their hides to nab the beacon found out, you better be damn sure that they'd be here too. James himself had probably found out at about the same time as the Alliance; his contacts ran deep. All things considered, he had the advantage. Right? But he was only one man, against the rest of the galaxy. At least… it certainly felt that way.

He clenched his fists, leaving his sniper rifle on the workbench for now and making his way to his quarters. Once inside, he stepped into the bathroom and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Cold and dull blue eyes gazed back at him, silently judging the scars that lined his face and the grey that was creeping into his unkempt beard. Gods, he needed to shave. He looked over forty, and scoffed as he reminded himself that he hadn't even made thirty yet. His chiseled jawline and dark, wavy hair spoke of a man that practically oozed charisma, but his weary stare and gravelly voice told a grimmer tale.

Two and a half million credits. He could retire, live on a paradise planet and spend his days watching sports and sipping mimosas. He wouldn't have to worry about living in the streets, diving through dumpsters and holding up innocent people for a ten-credit chit. His jaw clenched, a vein in his neck popping as he turned his gaze to the floor, filled with shame. After Mindoir, after he lost everyone he knew and loved, after the doctors and the psych wards tried to pick up the pieces, he was left with nothing. He _was_ nothing.

He looked up suddenly, a fire in his previously lifeless eyes. He worked his way back up. He hurt people, and it hurt him to do so. As soon as he could stop, he did. He built up his savings, he stole artifacts, he assassinated rival gang leaders, he ran some of the most dangerous smuggling routes in the galaxy, but he stopped hurting the ones who shouldn't have been hurt. If he felt any pride in that, he didn't show it. He had no friends, only contacts. He had no family, only his rickety old freighter. He had no crew, only himself. He didn't need pride, didn't need dignity… he needed a rest. Just a short rest.

Almost a decade and a half of death and crime was too much. In that time, he became everything he despised. A thief, a murderer and a hired gun, loaning his weapons out like some prostitute at a brothel. He hated it, but it was all he had. And nearly three million credits was being offered to him. This was it. This was his out. As he stared at his reflection, and his reflection stared back, he made his decision. If he was to die on this beautiful, peaceful planet, so be it. This would be his last mission.

"You and I, old friend, are about to retire," he murmured to his reflection, dousing his head with cold water before heading back to his workbench. For the first time in a while, true purpose injected itself into his step. He reassembled the beaten and battered rifle in under thirty seconds, the blood racing through his veins feeling white-hot. Once his weapon sat proudly on display, he turned to the locker containing his marred, crimson hardsuit. Wasting no time, James assembled his second skin, locking each armor piece into place. Before long, he had his helmet in both hands, staring down at it. He had gotten this set of armor almost a decade ago, and it had stood by him ever since. He put his helmet on and polarized the visor, masking his expressions and emotions to the outside world. He needed no mirror now; this armor had almost as many scars as he did, and he knew the story of each and every one. With one last look toward the cockpit, James grabbed his rifle and strapped it to his back. The twin Predator pistols lying on the bench were soon at his hips, and the man himself was soon stepping off of his modest ship. For the first time in thirteen years, five months and fourteen days, James Roosevelt felt alive.

What immediately struck him as wrong was that the spaceport was completely empty. He knew that Eden Prime was one of the smaller colonies, the pride of the Systems Alliance just because of its inherently peaceful nature. Even so, spaceports were always at least partially inundated with tourists or employees, and today there were neither. James began to make his way outside, his rifle in his arms.

It didn't help that as soon as James stepped out of the stuffy building, he was able to fully take in the foreboding, crimson sky, a byproduct of what appeared to be a particularly nasty storm rolling in. Feeling his stomach drop, the armed man made his way briskly to the tram station, only getting around halfway there before something from a nightmare descended from the clouds.

The sky had darkened further, a massive metal behemoth floating down to the surface flanked on either side by what appeared to be dropships, but he was unfamiliar with their origins. The flagship was shaped like an enormous, black cuttlefish, complete with five tentacles, four legs and a large head that almost looked organic. Shocks of red electricity shrouded the ship, which dwarfed everything that James had ever seen in his entire life, even the huge dreadnoughts that the Alliance had been manufacturing as of late.

Knowing that this was why the spaceport was empty, James skidded to a halt and watched as the metal monster sent a searing red beam straight through the tram station, completely obliterating it. Trying not to vomit, the grizzled mercenary immediately turned and dashed onto one of the loading platforms that were a little ways away from the tram building itself, sinking into the shadows and staying behind as many crates as possible.

 _So much for the bloody beacon… whatever's piloting that thing probably wants it too._ He gripped his rifle the slightest bit tighter.

As the mercenary rationalized that going after the beacon at this point would be all but impossible, and that even if he made it back to his ship and got it in the air (snowball's chance, and all that…), then he'd be shot out of the sky by a giant space laser. So as it stood, James was stuck in place, trying not to vacate his bowels.

It wasn't long before James heard dozens of footsteps heading for his platform, and he shrunk down further.

"Go to the tram station. Make sure every line is destroyed and report back to me. I will be done with the beacon by then…" A grating, metallic voice rang out, followed by the departure of nearly all of the feet that James had previously heard. Hazarding a peek once the sound faded, the mercenary got a glimpse at just who had been giving orders. A turian, a tall alien with three-taloned hands, a set of mandibles around their mouths and a metallic carapace; they looked a lot like what a bipedal raptor might. This one wore dirty gray armor with blue lights and tubing that made him look as though he were on life support. This turian was barefaced, and that had James's hackles raised. He knew a fair few barefaced turians in his life as a mercenary, and he also knew that a barefaced turian was one that could not under any circumstances be trusted. Was this the conductor of that deadly symphony in the sky that was currently blotting out the sun? He had to be, if he was here for the beacon. Before James was able to ponder further, another voice sounded out, still gravelly but much smoother.

"Saren...? What are you doing here?"

Another turian made his way onto the platform. He was wearing black armor with red lights and accents, the colony markings on his face painted white. It looked almost like SpecTRe armor…

"Nihlus… The Council thought you could use a little help on this one," the other turian spoke slowly and deliberately, his mandibles twitching into what James knew was the turian equivalent of a smirk.

Nihlus's confusion was palpable as he turned away from Saren, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's worse than I thought… Geth? They haven't been seen outside of the Perseus Veil in nearly three hundred years!"

James's brows raised at that. Those were geth ships? He knew from his xenohistory class that the geth were a species of synthetic organisms that were created by the quarians three centuries ago to do their hard labor. Originally, they had been simple virtual intelligences, but they shared their processing power; in groups, they grew more intuitive. As the quarians built more and more geth, they became more and more intelligent until reaching true sapience, questioning their existence and purpose in life. The quarians became afraid of the consequences of their actions and decided to exterminate the geth, leading to a conflict known as the Geth War which the quarians ultimately lost.

They were forced to evacuate their home planet, leaving it to the geth and fleeing the system. After the war, the geth were never seen beyond the Veil again. If the geth were here, and they wanted the beacon… gods, what had he gotten himself into? As the conversation between the two turians continued, James turned his attention back to it.

"Don't worry… I have it all under control." James heard the sneer in Saren's voice, and he didn't like it one bit. They were obviously both SpecTRes, judging by their bringing up of the Citadel Council, but he had heard Saren ordering the geth around; he wasn't here on Council orders. That left only one option: Saren was about to betray Nihlus. As much as James didn't want to get embroiled in a conflict that seemed way over his head, a SpecTRe that owed James his life seemed like a good ally to have. He tore out of cover as Saren raised his gun toward Nihlus, the latter unaware of the coming betrayal.

James saw it coming from twenty feet away, though, standing up and raising his sniper rifle, firing a round into Saren's shoulder. The barefaced turian's kinetic barriers fizzled and died, the round powerful enough to break through his armor. Blue blood splattered across the ground as Saren roared in pain. Saren's own attempt on Nihlus's life went astray, the shot hitting the black-armored turian in his lower back instead of the back of his head.

The weapon Saren was using had to have been rather powerful, because it still sent Nihlus to his knees. The betrayer turned to face the new threat just as James got to him, taking a left hook to the face and stumbling backwards. James threw his pistol toward the still-downed Nihlus, raising his fists defensively as Saren stepped forward. The mercenary's skill was nowhere near Saren's, though, and the tall turian sent a kick into his ribs and a fist into the side of his helmet before he could react.

James dropped, head woozy and vision blurry. Saren turned to face him, growling before dashing off toward the tram station. _Must be on a tight schedule._

Waiting until he was sure the barefaced turian was gone, James took off his helmet, got to his feet and jogged over to Nihlus, who was applying medigel to his wound and grimacing in pain.

"Who are you?" James asked, kneeling next to him and helping him to his feet after taking his pistol back and holstering it.

Nihlus gazed up at his savior with curious green eyes. "Nihlus Kryik, Citadel Council Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. What about you? Are you with the Alliance?"

James paused before answering. A Council SpecTRe on Eden Prime, he was right. Not only that, but two; one had just gone rogue. This beacon was, as he had expected a few minutes before, far more than he bargained for, and he had no intention of stealing the damned thing now. James also decided that telling the truth to the SpecTRe he had just saved would probably go over better than if he was lying through his teeth.

"James Roosevelt, I'm just a mercenary who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time." Nihlus regarded him with a mix of measured admiration and faint disapproval, his mandibles flaring in what seemed to be a relieved smile.

"Some might say the right place and time, Mr. Roosevelt. Regardless of your background and the crimes you've probably committed, I am grateful. I'm here with an Alliance ship to pick up the prothean beacon that everyone in the galaxy seems to want. That turian you were grappling with is Saren Arterius; also a SpecTRe. Though I suspect once I get back to the Citadel, his Spectre status will be stripped. Damned traitor, why could he possibly be working with the geth?!"

More of James's suspicions were confirmed. "He was a Spectre? No wonder he knocked me flat in three seconds… You said the beacon was prothean? That must be why it's worth so much." James sighed before continuing. "I'm going to be honest with you, SpecTRe Kryik, because my intentions have changed. I came here this morning to steal the beacon for someone who was going to pay me a pretty penny. But… I don't want to throw away my moral compass, especially now that I know what's actually going on. I don't want the beacon, and I don't want the beacon to end up in the wrong hands either. Instead-"

Nihlus raised a hand to stop him. "Instead, you're willing to assist me and those that came with me in getting the beacon back from Saren, in exchange for the expungement of your criminal record. You'd like a clean slate, I can tell. Your intentions are what you say they are."

James blinked twice. And he thought _he_ was good at deducing. "Well… Yeah, pretty much. Wow. You're good."

Nihlus looked the mercenary over for a second or two before nodding and chuckling wryly. "Without you, Mr. Roosevelt, I'd be a corpse on the floor. I'll accept your offer. We need to wait for the rest of my team, though; they should be coming over the hill now."

As the turian SpecTRe finished, two figures crested the hill leading down to the station, weapons raised. When they saw Saren and James they made their way over, lowering their guns. One wore standard-issue Alliance Marines armor, while the other had a red stripe running down the right arm, the vocation N7 emblazoned on their chest.

"Nihlus! We heard gunshots, what happened?" One of the operatives took their helmet off. 'They' was actually a crimson-haired woman, her voice ever-so recognizable. James stepped forward, eyes wide.

"Shepard?"


	2. Arc 1: Chapter 1

**A/N: So, I didn't put an author's note on the first chapter, mostly because I forgot. I figure I'd rectify that now by explaining this story and its origins. This idea of writing something for Mass Effect has been bouncing around in my head for years, but while taking a Creative Writing course last semester I realized that I could put my pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, as it were) and kill two birds with one stone; write for the class, and write for myself. When I offered up a less polished version of the prologue (which you all just read), my classmates seemed to really enjoy it despite most having never heard of the Mass Effect trilogy (a reason why I'm visualizing the lore/species of the game as best I can). They wanted me to continue and they wanted updates, so here I am.**

 **What this story is structurally is a series of short vignettes (anywhere from 1,000 to 5,000 words, depending on the content of the chapter), detailing the journey that my Shepard takes on her way to that fateful mission on Eden Prime, as well as the journey that James Roosevelt, the one who gives this story its name, takes on** _ **his**_ **way to Eden Prime.**

 **I plan to update once every two weeks on Friday, with the prologue being the exception to the rule. The earliest you could be reading this is Friday the 9th of February, so that means the third chapter should be out on the 23rd of February. I hope you all enjoy. Oh, one last thing. Pay attention to dates, as this story will be jumping forward and back in time a LOT.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect, nor any of the characters of the series. Bioware does.**

 **April 11th, 2154**

 **Stalwart Medical Institute, Bastion, Mindoir**

 **0300 Hours (Local Time)**

In the normally quiet Stalwart Medical Institute, situated in the center of the small city of Bastion, the halls of the maternity department were filled with the sounds of a newborn crying alongside the relieved laughs of two parents and the medical staff that saw them through the procedure.

"Mr. and Mrs. Shepard… it's a girl. Do you have a name in mind?" their doctor asked softly, handing the bundle off to her mother.

The new parents looked at one another as the child began to quiet down in her mother's arms.

John Shepard, dark brown hair cropped close to his head, stubble dusting his jawline and a visible farmer's tan on his tough skin, looked to his wife with blue-grey eyes brimming with mischief and joy. He had won their bet, it was a girl. Jane Shepard, her curly locks of scarlet hair sticking to her face as the sweat from her maternal ordeal only served to amplify her glow, looked to her husband with a theatrical sigh and a rolling of her emerald green eyes. She had wanted a boy, of course, but they had civilly agreed to names beforehand.

And so after a single look, Jane Shepard turned her attention back to their smiling doctor. "Yes, we do. Marissa Elizabeth Shepard."

 **September 1st, 2159**

 **Shepard Household, North District, Bastion, Mindoir**

 **0730 Hours (Local Time)**

Marissa huffed, kicking her legs as she tugged at the straps of her backpack and shifted in her chair. Dad had gone out to the fields to work over two hours ago, but today she wasn't allowed to join him. She understood why, but she didn't have to like it. Who needed school anyway? She didn't, that was for sure.

Mom had set the bowl of oatmeal in front of her, a glass of orange juice soon following. "The sooner you eat, the sooner you go to school, and the sooner you go to school, the sooner you get to come home and help your father, Marissa."

Marissa decided that she would ignore her mother… for now. Just because it made sense didn't mean she was going to do it. She was five years old, she knew what she was doing! She also ignored her stomach, when it inevitably began to rumble.

Mom rolled her eyes and shrugged before turning to her own meal and beginning to eat. "Now, why aren't you excited for your first day of school? Don't you want to meet new friends?"

The young girl narrowed her bright green eyes, begrudgingly grabbing a spoonful of oatmeal and stuffing it in her mouth. "Don't need friends…" she mumbled around her food.

"Marissa! Don't talk with food in your mouth, it's rude!" The older Shepard suppressed a smile as she reprimanded her daughter, eyes narrowing in mirth more than annoyance.

Marissa groaned, downing another bite before speaking again. "I don't need friends 'cause I've got you, and Dad, and the animals!" She thought that made a whole lot of sense. She had plenty of friends… and they listened without talking back, too.

Her mother chuckled at her, already finished with her breakfast. "Well, regardless of whether you want to make friends, you still have to go to school. Finish your breakfast up, I'll be outside."

Marissa attempted to go against her mother, staring at her breakfast for a little over a minute, but in the end it was just too good to not eat. It was Mom's fault, being a good cook and all. Not that oatmeal was a difficult meal to prepare, but she didn't know that.

In five minutes Marissa had finished her food, set her empty glass and clean bowl in the sink and trotted outside. Mom was leaning against the groundcar, staring out over the almost fully-grown fields of Mindoir-grade corn that were being looked after by her dad. Narrowing her eyes, Marissa could've sworn she had seen him way in the distance, but she wasn't certain. Still rather reluctant to go to school, she walked over to the passenger side and waited for her mother to unlock the doors.

The ride to school was a short one, and seemed to go even faster because Marissa would have liked to be anywhere else. In what seemed like only a minute, Mom had stopped the car out front and turned it off, gazing down at her with a big smile.

"Well, here we are, kiddo. I know you don't think you're going to enjoy school, but _I_ know that you'll love it. Have fun, and remember… be nice to your classmates! You might make some friends that can actually hold a conversation!"

Marissa pursed her lips, thoughtful. As much as her own wise, five-year-old mind seemed to think that school was a bad thing, Mom _was_ where she had gotten her wisdom (or so she liked to say; Dad always insisted it was him), so she figured she ought to listen. She offered a smile in return. "...alright, I guess so… I love you, Mom!"

Her mom's smile grew as she leaned over and kissed Marissa's forehead. "I love you too, sweetheart. Go get 'em."

With that, Marissa opened the door and got out of the groundcar, waving at her mom before heading for the front of the school, where all of the other kids her age were. When she looked back, the maroon vehicle that had delivered her was gone, along with her mother.

She didn't expect to be approached at all, let alone within a minute, but she stopped staring at her shoes when she noticed a boy approach her with a shy smile.

"Uh… hi. What's your name?" His blue eyes were inquisitive, his smile contagious. Marissa mirrored his smile after a few seconds of hesitation, feet shuffling.

"My name's Marissa. What's _your_ name?" The dark-haired boy tugged at the straps of his backpack, looking around before returning his gaze to her.

"...James. Do you wanna be friends?"

 **April 11th, 2167**

 **Victory Park, North District, Bastion, Mindoir**

 **1600 Hours (Local Time)**

Marissa was grinning as she sat in front of her birthday cake, twelve candles burning brightly. Surrounding her were all of her friends and family, singing and smiling. James was standing directly to her left, arms crossed over his chest as he sang just a bit louder than everyone else.

"...happy birthday to you!" The small crowd finished the song and burst into cheers, watching as Marissa blew out her candles. She then got up to hug James, hug her parents, hug Ms. Roosevelt, and hug the rest of her friends. Mom was right, as always. Friends that could hold a conversation were leagues above the animals on the Shepard farm.

After the party ended, after all the presents were opened and all the cake was devoured, after goodbyes were said and people filtered out of the park, all that remained was the birthday girl and her best friend. They left their parents to do the cleaning up, walking over to the lake as the sun began to set.

"I noticed that you didn't get me a present, Roosevelt." Marissa muttered, narrowing her eyes at him. His bright blue eyes were sparkling with mirth as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah... this year I didn't think you deserved one, Shepard," he replied, smirking at the rage that blossomed on his best friend's face.

"Idiot… yes you did, where is it?!" Marissa growled at him, stamping her foot. James laughed, shrugging once more.

"I don't know what to tell you, I didn't get you anything!" he exclaimed, immediately ducking under a punch that was aimed at his face and taking a step back.

"Alright, alright! I got you something, hold on…" he yelped, holding his hands up in a placating gesture before reaching into his pocket. He produced a necklace with a silver lock hanging at the bottom and held it out to her. When she stared at it in confusion, he pulled a similar necklace from under his shirt; this one had a key.

"Well, I figure... any good lock has a key, right? And you're no good without me by your side." He looked a bit nervous, his shining smile still ever-present but a little shaky.

Marissa gazed at the necklace, taking it from him and putting it on slowly. "That's… really stupid," she muttered, watching as his face fell. She then surged forward and hugged him tightly, grinning. "Thank you, James."

His sad expression immediately shifted as his arms slid around her, the boy pulling away after a few seconds. "No Shepard without Roosevelt, right?"

 **September 25th, 2183**

 **SSV Normandy, in transit to Eden Prime**

 **0400 Hours (adjusted to Eden Prime Local)**

Lieutenant Commander Marissa E. Shepard woke up drenched in sweat, letting out a shocked gasp as memories of her life on Mindoir coursed through her mind. A few tears ran down her face before she could wipe them away, and she let out a choked sob as she grasped the lock resting against her chest.

Just as quickly as the burst of emotion came, it passed. Shepard sat up with a shaky sigh, glancing at the time on her omni-tool. Today was the day the Normandy's shakedown run was supposed to take place. But why Eden Prime of all places, and why was there a Council SpecTRe on board? Shepard didn't feel quite right, and it wasn't because of the bad night's rest she had gotten.


	3. Arc 1: Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, ladies and gents! Hope you enjoy!**

 **April 12th, 2154**

 **Stalwart Medical Institute, Bastion, Mindoir**

 **0700 Hours (Local Time)**

Spring, it appeared, was a rather common time for children to be born in the city of Bastion, as this was the fifth birth in a week that Dr. Helena Monroe had overseen. The halls were once again filled with the wails of a newborn, alongside the joyous laughter of an exhausted mother.

"Ms. Roosevelt, it's a boy. What would you like to name him?" Dr. Monroe looked almost as tired as her patient, her face lighting up with a smile as she handed the woman's child to her.

The dark-haired mother glanced down at the small bundle in her arms, her bright blue eyes staring almost in awe at a pair of eyes of a similar shade that blinked curiously. The two women were the only ones in the room, aside from the newborn boy. After a few moments, she turned her gaze to the doctor with a weary smile.

"James. James Quincy Roosevelt."

 **September 1st, 2159**

 **Parapet Elementary School, North District, Bastion, Mindoir**

 **0740 Hours (Local Time)**

It was the third time this morning that Mum had leaned down and adjusted the collar of his shirt, but James just smiled. It was the first day of school, after all.

"You can only get it so straight, Mum…" he grumbled in good nature. Mum just rolled her eyes as she stood back up and looked him over one more time.

"You are far too much of a smart-aleck for your age, James. You put your dishes in the sink, yes?" Mum made her way over to the sink anyway as he replied.

"Yes, mum, the dishes are in the sink." James walked over to the kitchen table and grabbed his backpack, grinning at his mother and gesturing to the door.

"I'm ready when you are!" With that, Mum turned about-face and headed for the door, taking his hand in hers and walking to the car.

Once inside, Mum turned and smiled gently at him, tousling his hair. "Are you excited, sweetheart?"

James blinked a few times before shrugging his shoulders, looking apprehensive. "I think so, yeah. Up until now, it's just been you and me. I want to make new friends!"

His mum began to drive, nodding her head as her son replied. "You're going to make plenty of friends, honey. Just remember to be nice to everyone you meet and you'll do just fine."

The groundcar passed through the suburbs almost silently, the young boy in the passenger seat gazing out at the many houses, fences and yards; they all looked so similar at first glance, but James knew that there were subtle differences that made each home a unique one. He'd never been to Earth himself, but Mum always said that Mindoir's architecture reminded her of the suburban sprawl of the northeastern United States. This made him grin. That was where his dad was from, and where him and Mum lived before they had him. He knew his Mum was from somewhere in England- that's where he got his accent- but he couldn't quite remember where. He'd have to ask her when he got home from school. Speaking of… It appeared that they had arrived.

The first thing that he noticed was that Parapet Elementary wasn't all that big. The second thing he noticed was that all of the new students seemed to be gathered out front, milling about and murmuring to one another. Mum parked the car and let it idle, looking down at James with a wistful smile.

"Here we are, kiddo… get out there and make some friends!" She leaned down and kissed his cheek, laughing as he attempted to duck out of the way ("Mum, stop it..!") and fixing his collar one more time.

With that, James opened the door and hopped out, adjusting his backpack and glancing back at his mother. Once more his nerves took hold and he sighed shakily.

His mum noticed and grinned encouragingly, winking and pointing to the crowd of kids. "I know you can do it, sweetie."

James sighed again, nodding after a few seconds and shutting the door. Turning to face the crowd, he made his way forward, looking around for someone with a friendly face.

The young boy was unsure of whether he should approach someone outright or just blend into the crowd, but that was when he noticed her.

She was wearing a plaid shirt and a pair of jeans, her crimson hair braided carefully. She looked pretty nervous, and James knew that he was just as nervous. So… what could go wrong?

He shuffled over to her with a small smile on his face. She looked up from her shoes and he saw her bright green eyes narrow slightly in confusion.

"Uh… hi. What's your name?" To his relief, the girl's lips turned up in a smile to match his own after a second of hesitation.

"My name's Marissa. What's _your_ name?" Well, this was going better than expected. He tugged at the straps of his backpack to get rid of his nerves, looking around at the amalgam of children before returning his eyes to Marissa's.

"...James. Do you wanna be friends?" Somehow, James knew that he had just met someone that would make his life even better.

 **November 18th, 2162**

 **Shepard Household, North District, Bastion, Mindoir**

 **1300 Hours (Local Time)**

Marissa's mum came back from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn, setting it down on the coffee table. James grinned up at her, thanking her softly before turning back to the holoscreen and picking up the ancient controller. What James found out about Marissa's mother was that the woman had an absolutely massive collection of board games, video games and trading cards. Some of the stuff she had was over one-hundred and fifty years old! And one of those games was what himself and Marissa were playing right now.

"This is Portal 2, right Mrs. Roosevelt?" He asked softly, glancing back at her as Marissa growled softly.

The elder Roosevelt grinned and nodded, laughing as her daughter stamped her feet for the third time this level. "Yes, it is indeed…"

"Did they ever come out with a Portal 3?" He wondered, placing a portal right under his partner, making sure that she'd be thrown into the abyss. The scream of rage and the punch in the shoulder was _so_ worth it.

In the midst of her laughs, Mrs. Roosevelt responded. "You know what, they never did! That company seemed rather averse to the number 3… But I have a lot more puzzle games for you kids to try out, once you decide to stop making my daughter want to kill you."

James ducked under another slug and returned his full attention to the game. "Alright, alright, I'm done! Let's do this!"

Marissa shook her head, her red curls bouncing as she growled. "Idiot… you better be done, we've been on this level for fifteen minutes!"

Despite all her rage, James was still able to catch the small smile that graced his best friend's lips as they began to tear through the level.

 **April 11th, 2167**

 **Victory Park, North District, Bastion, Mindoir**

 **1830 Hours (Local Time)**

He walked beside her, heart pounding in his chest as they made their way to the lake, the sun setting in front of them. When she stopped at the water's edge, he turned to face her.

"I noticed that you didn't get me a present, Roosevelt," she muttered, her beautiful green eyes narrowed the way they always were when she was pissed at him. He reigned in the goofy grin on his face, instead smiling coyly and shrugging.

"Yeah… this year I didn't think you deserved one, Shepard," he replied, smirking as rage took over her expression. James took a cautionary step back.

"Idiot… yes you did, where is it?!" she growled back, stamping her foot into the dirt. He laughed in response, shrugging once again.

"I don't know what to tell you, I didn't get you anything!" he exclaimed, ducking immediately under a shot that would have made his ears ring, taking another step back.

"Alright, alright! I got you something, hold on…" he yelped, holding his hands up to placate her before reaching into his pocket. When he produced a necklace with a silver lock hanging at the bottom of it and saw her confusion he pulled the necklace's partner from under his shirt. For some reason, he became very hesitant, irrationally worried that she wouldn't like it.

"Well, I figure… any good lock has a key, right? And you're no good without me by your side." His smile began to fall apart. Had he gone too far?

The crimson-haired girl took the necklace slowly, putting it on and staring at it for a few seconds before looking up at him. "That's… really stupid."

His smile disappeared and he pursed his lips, ready to say something before she surged forward, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. "Thank you, James," she whispered with a grin.

His smile immediately returned full-force as he hugged her back, inhaling softly. "No Shepard without Roosevelt, right?" He felt more than saw her nod.

 **August 2nd, 2170**

 **Shepard Farm, North District, Bastion, Mindoir**

 **0530 Hours**

He saw her standing in the ashes of her father's fields, flames surrounding her as tears streamed down her face, and his heart broke.

He raced to her side, engulfing her in a hug before dragging her from the fire. "Marissa, please..! We have to go! They're gone, Marissa!" Tears of his own threatened to spring free as he held her close and ran through the burning field. Gunfire, screams and the crackling of wildfire assaulted their ears. The only sound he heard from his best friend was the wracked sobs and gasps for air. His heart broke.

Footsteps followed them, but James didn't dare look back. He had gotten a few dozen feet before he was forced to pick Marissa up, the girl completely in shock. The footsteps were getting closer, and his heart broke.

He knew they wouldn't get away, so James dashed to the right, setting Marissa down. "Get up and run, Marissa. You need to run… please… Shepard, _go!_ " She got to her feet, staring up at him and reaching out, and his heart broke.

He shook his head once before turning around and charging the four-eyed alien that was pursuing them, knocking the assault rifle from its grimy hands. He didn't look back to see if Marissa was running, throwing wild punches and dodging everything that he could with a scream of rage. Everyone was gone. Only Marissa and himself were left. His mind flooded with the images of the pain etched on her face, and his heart broke.

The young man was untrained and distracted, and wasn't able to catch the punch to his gut that sent him onto the ground. He heard the batarian pick up its gun from the ground, squeezing his eyes shut. He never got to tell Marissa… and his heart broke.

The last thing Marissa heard before blacking out against a tree on the outskirts of the colony was the ringing sound of a gunshot and the scream of pain that accompanied it.


	4. Arc 1: Chapter 3

**A/N: Well, I guess I should issue another apology. Over a month late. A lot of stuff has happened over the past few weeks, and as soon as I thought I was out of the fire, I was tossed right back in. I won't say that I'm in the clear yet. I don't think I should try to make another promise that I can't keep. Instead, I will say this: sorry for the wait, and I hope you enjoy. The next update will come... whenever I can update.**

 **August 2nd, 2170**

 **Unknown Location**

 **Unknown Time**

When James opened his eyes he was shrouded in darkness, lying on cold metal with a collar fastened around his neck. His arms and legs were bound. His head was throbbing and every time he moved his right shoulder, searing pain shot down his that entire side of his body. With a gasp of pain, the young man sat up and pressed his back against the wall, looking around for any sort of door. He gave up after a few seconds; he couldn't see more than a few centimeters in front of his face.

He didn't know how much time passed in the dark; it could have been no more than five minutes, or it could have been hours. Eventually, he heard the door to his room slide open, his eyes suddenly assaulted by light. It didn't do much for his splitting headache, either. When he forced open one watery eye, he saw a tall, blurry figure standing in the doorway. Forcing his other eye open, James was able to see that it was an armored batarian, a stun baton in his left hand.

"Up, cattle," the four-eyed alien growled, taking a step forward and raising the baton. James struggled to find his feet, due mostly to the fact that his ankles were locked together. Apparently he was taking too long, as the baton impacted his cheek and sent him sprawling.

"Get up!" his captor shouted, kicking him in the gut and knocking him onto his back. This time, he was able to get up, albeit very shakily and using the metal wall behind him for support. He stared at the batarian, which happened to be his next mistake. The baton cracked against his jaw and he felt something give, crying out as he was sent to his knees.

"Look at the floor, scum!" James had little choice but to obey, returning to his feet and keeping his gaze locked on the tile. The batarian moved behind him and prodded him forward, the electricity of his baton arcing up the young man's back and eliciting a sharp hiss of pain.

"You should be happy, cattle," the batarian sneered, pushing him out the door and down the hallway, "the torturer gets to _practice_ on you." With that, James was shoved into a different room, only getting a few seconds to see the various tools and implements on metal tables surrounding a chair before he felt the baton hit the back of his skull, throwing him to the floor and into unconsciousness.

 **Minutes later...**

James regained consciousness to the sound of movement in front of him. The young man was now strapped into a chair, a length of rope around his midriff holding him in place. A different batarian from the one before stood before him, staring at what looked to be a taser in his hand. Once the batarian realized his captive was awake, he grinned cruelly.

"Ah, the cattle rises… good. Now, under normal circumstances I would be seeking to extract information from that disgusting skull of yours, but… you're useless in that regard!" The torturer laughed, taking a fistful of James's hair and forcing him to look up.

"No… instead, I get to see how much pain I can cause while keeping your worthless self conscious. Nirek told me you reacted well to electricity, so…" James was given no time to respond before the mouth of the taser was shoved against his stomach, set to drive stun. Fifty thousand volts surged through the his body for six seconds, his arms and legs spasming before the torturer took the pain away in an instant.

James gasped for breath, tears in his eyes as he gazed defiantly at the batarian. He figured if he was going to be getting tortured anyway, he'd better get his money's worth. That was his justification for spitting in the bastard's face, anyway, and it definitely made him feel better seeing the shock and rage in his expression.

His justification was immediately replaced with regret when the batarian slammed his fist into James's broken jaw, sending lances of pain through his whole face and nearly knocking the chair onto the floor.

"How dare you!" the batarian roared, immediately driving the taser home once again. This time it was held in place for twelve seconds, and after that was finished the barrel cracked against the young man's temple. His vision blurred and he nearly lost consciousness then and there, but managed to stay awake.

The batarian took a step back and set the taser down, staring at his bruised and battered prisoner for a few seconds and breathing heavily.

"Well, as much as I'd like to bleed you dry right now, I wouldn't want to let you off so easily. You get a break, but be prepared for next time: this was child's play."

With that, the batarian rapped his hand against the metal door. A few seconds later, the batarian from before entered the room and strode up to James. With a swing similar to the one before, Nirek knocked him unconscious.

 **August 3rd, 2170**

 **Medical Bay, SSV Einstein, in orbit around Mindoir**

 **0700 Hours (Ship Time)**

"She didn't look injured when we picked her up, Doctor."

"She may be uninjured, Lieutenant, but there is no telling what the raid has done to her psyche. I'm keeping her here until we can take her to a proper psychiatric facility. Post-traumatic stress disorder is highly likely."

"Understood. I'll leave you to your work."

Marissa opened her eyes and looked around, her breathing ragged. Almost immediately, an older woman in doctor's attire was at her side, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Easy there, sweetheart, you're okay. You're on board an Alliance vessel, my name is Dr. Matthews."

Pushing some of her hair from her face, Marissa slowly got her breathing under control and gazed up at the doctor. Her eyes lit up and she glanced to her left and right at the empty cots.

"Where is James, where are my…" she trailed off, grabbing a fistful of sheets. The raven-haired doctor sighed softly, shaking her head once.

"I'm sorry, dear. The marines didn't pick up anyone else. You were the only one that they found…"

Marissa began to shake her head, tears threatening to spill over as a lump formed in her throat. "T-they can't be gone, I was with them earlier today!" she cried.

Dr. Matthews reached forward and took the girl's hand, gently squeezing. "I'm sorry," she repeated, the words hollow as they reached Marissa's ears.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and squeezed them shut, taking a few shaky breaths. "They're all gone?" she asked flatly. The doctor nodded.

"What's your name, honey?" The girl blinked a few times, fists clenched as she tried to recall her name.

"...Shepard. Marissa," she replied quietly.

The doctor nodded once, letting out a deep sigh. "Alright, Marissa, you can call me Kara. We're going to go ahead and take you to an Alliance medical facility to get you checked out properly, alright?"

Marissa swallowed and looked down at her lap. She didn't have much choice in the matter, did she? She felt the corners of her eyes begin to sting, closing them again to prevent any tears from falling. After a few more shaky breaths, the girl looked back up at Dr. Matthews and nodded weakly. "...okay."

 **August 31st, 2170**

 **Rouse Psychiatric Hospital, Arcturus Station**

 **1700 Hours (Station Time)**

Marissa laid on her cot, in her cell, staring at the white-tiled ceiling. It wasn't a cell, she reminded herself bitterly, but it certainly felt like one. Since arriving here, the redhead had quickly realized that psychologists and psychiatrists and therapists and whatever combination of the three could only do so much for her… problems.

CPT was a trainwreck; after the first week she had grabbed the stylus from her therapist and attempted to shove it into the man's trachea. _Cognitive processing therapy,_ she mouthed angrily, sighing. She was sure that it helped _some_ people to talk about what caused their PTSD in detail, but for her therapist to encourage her to talk about the people she loved the most being cut down like animals didn't seem very wise; she wasn't the one with the PhD, though, so what did she know?

After that, it was onto prolonged exposure therapy. It went about as well as CPT, though some of the breathing techniques that she was taught helped a little bit. Everything else bounced off of her, ineffective. After a week of this, Marissa took to staring at walls blankly and ignoring everyone that said a word to her. It was a sort of self-imposed muteness, and she knew it was getting under the skin of those that were trying to help her.

She knew that these people were trying their level best to fix her. She knew that they were trying everything possible to drag her back to normalcy. She didn't hate them for it. She was annoyed by them, certainly. Annoyed by them, because what they were doing wasn't _working._

They adjusted surprisingly well to her vocal exile. Well, if it could be considered adjusting. For the most part, they did the same garbage that they were doing before, but now they were asking her fewer questions. Occasionally they asked her yes-or-no questions; occasionally she nodded or shook her head. Other times she shrugged, or stared doggedly at the wall.

Yesterday, they suggested medication. The frosty expression she mustered up in response to _that_ notion was answer enough. They were running out of things to try, and she knew it. She wasn't sure how long they would keep her here for, but she was sure that she didn't want to be here any longer. As the door opened once again, Marissa rolled her eyes. What were they going to say this time?

 **August 31st, 2170**

 **Unknown Pirate Vessel**

 **Midday (Ship Time)**

Two things were guaranteed to James. Two torture sessions a day, and three square meals a day. He began keeping track of the days by using every third meal, and could even narrow down what time it was, for the most part.

The dark-haired young man glanced up at the cold steel ceiling, then down at his lap. He had had more bones broken in four weeks than he had ever had in his sixteen years on Mindoir, and there wasn't a time when he wasn't covered in lacerations and contusions. Some of the harsher injuries were beginning to scar.

He knew he had to get out of here, but he had no idea how to. Over the course of the month of August, he had gleaned a little bit of information from his captors. He was on a vessel owned by pirates. There was no set destination in mind. They had docked once every two weeks so far, but he didn't know where. There were other prisoners in other cells on the vessel, but he had never interacted with them. The food was fucking terrible. Torture sucked. And, most importantly… the food was fucking terrible.

That was it. He had no idea how big the ship was, he had no idea what the layout of the ship was, and he had no idea how many bodies he'd have to go through to get to the hangar bay; if this piece of shit even had one.

Every cloud has its silver lining, and even the cloud that James found himself trapped inside had one, barely visible silver lining. As the weeks passed, he had become more… resilient to the torture that he was subjected to. He had also begun working out in his cell, when he wasn't too sore or tired to do so. He'd need every ounce of strength that he could drum up if he was ever to escape. Every ounce of physical strength, and every ounce of mental strength, too.

The one thing that kept James going was that he had saved Marissa. Of course, he didn't know for a fact that she hadn't been killed or captured, but he had stubbornly held onto the hope that she was alive and well. It was probably the only thing that kept him sane.

As the door opened once again, James rolled his eyes. What were they going to do this time?


End file.
